“Now, Pole Baker, durn yore hide, you've got brains—at least, some folks say you have—an' so has he. Ef you don't git the best of that scalawag yo' re done fer. You've put purty big things through; now put this un through or shet up.”
“Well, heer you are,” merrily cried out the ex-banker, as he came up. He was smiling expectantly. “Your secret's safe with me. I hain't met a soul that I know sence I left town.”
“I'm glad you didn't, Mr. Craig,” Pole said. “I don't want anybody a-meddlin' with my business.” He pointed up the rather steep and rocky road that led gradually up the mountain. “We've got two or three mile furder to go. Have you had any dinner?”
“I put a cold biscuit and a slice of ham in my pocket,” said Craig. “It 'll do me till supper.”
Pole mounted and led the way up the unfrequented road.
“I may as well tell you, Mr. Craig, that I used to be a moonshiner in these mountains, an'—”
“Lord, I knew that, Baker. Who doesn't, I'd like to know?”
Pole's big-booted legs swung back and forth like pendulums from the flanks of his horse.
“I was a-goin' to tell you that I had a hide-out, whar I kept stuff stored, that wasn't knowed by one livin' man.”
“Well, you must have had a slick place from all I've heerd,” said Craig, still in his vast good-humor with himself and everybody else.